


Mistletoe and Wine

by coffeeandcas



Series: Christmas Gifts (Destiel and Hannigram Ficlets) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Ideas, Christianity, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Drunk Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Fluff, Holidays, Kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Protective Dean Winchester, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 02:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16801888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcas/pseuds/coffeeandcas
Summary: Okay, Dean Winchester isn’t Santa. But he does have areallygood reason for breaking into Castiel’s house on Christmas Eve. Honestly, he does.It seemed like a good idea at the time...





	Mistletoe and Wine

**Author's Note:**

> So all through December, I'm going to be posting a short series of holiday fics (some Destiel and some Hannigram) as pre-Christmas gifts from me to you. 
> 
> (And I'm sure this doesn't need saying but don't break into people's houses, even if it is to help them celebrate at Christmas. Dean Winchester, take note.)
> 
> Enjoy!

“All I’m saying, Sammy, is that everyone should have a tree up for Christmas.” Dean shovels another mouthful of pie into his mouth and gestures with his fork, spraying crumbs everywhere with his next words. “It’s not _normal_ not to.”

“Not everyone can afford a tree, Dean.” Sam grimaces at his brother’s appalling table manners, wiping chewed-up cherry pie from his sleeve. “And some people aren’t religious, they don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“No. But he _can_ and he _is_. So it’s like, a crime. Against nature.”

“I’m pretty sure that _not_ chopping a tree down and displaying its corpse in your home is the exact opposite of a crime against nature, Dean,” Sam says mildly, spearing a lettuce leaf with his fork, much to Dean’s distaste. “Why are you so obsessed with this guy, anyway? Are you the creepy neighbour who spies on him from behind your curtains?”

“No!”

But the petulance in Dean’s voice betrays him and he averts his eyes from his brother to his food in an effort to hide the flush working its way up his neck. In truth, he has peered out from behind the curtains when Castiel returns home from work or the gym, but there’s nothing creepy about it. He’s just… doing his civic duty. Making sure the neighbourhood is safe. Making sure Castiel gets to his door okay. It wouldn’t do for him to slip on the ice and nobody _see_ , would it? Sometimes, and he knows he shouldn’t do this but he can’t help himself, he fantasises that Castiel does slip on the ice and that it creates the perfect excuse for Dean to go rushing out, help him up, and Castiel is so grateful that he invites Dean in for a drink to say thank you and they hit it off, spending all evening talking and laughing, then Dean makes them both breakfast the next morning, and…

“Hello! Earth to Dean!” Sam is snapping his fingers in front of Dean’s face and he blinks, thrown from his little fantasy with a start, and glowers at his younger brother. “Man, you _do_ have it bad, don’t you? What does this guy have that you’re so fascinated with?” Sam’s face turns from wide-eyed, amused disbelief to horror in the blink of an eye. “Wait. Don’t answer that.”

“No, please do!” In a flurry of movement and sound, Sam’s boyfriend of two months sits down at the booth amid a pile of shopping bags and brushes his hair out of his face. His cheeks are pink with the cold and his glasses steamed up, yet there’s a glimmer of glee in his eyes as he sizes Dean up. “Does he have a cock that-”

“Gabriel, I beg you not to finish that sentence!” Sam buries his face in his hands and Gabriel laughs carelessly.

“Talking about my dear cousin again, Dean? Or should I say, _mooning_ over my dear cousin? He still hasn’t noticed you exist yet?”

“No.” It’s a painful admission and one that makes Dean focus in once again on his cherry pie. “No thanks to you.”

“Hey, Cassie made me swear off setting him up on blind dates years ago.” Gabriel shrugs his jacket and scarf off, dumping them on Sam who folds the items neatly and sets them down with his own. The lovesick expression on his brother’s face makes Dean want to barf. “Nothing I can do, I’m afraid.”

“You could invite him to Christmas Day,” Sam suggests helpfully and Gabriel pins him with a stony look. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Winchester Christmas celebrations are always fun.”

“I don’t doubt that. And the ‘fun’ element is what makes me think Cassie would be the worst guest you could hope for. He doesn’t exactly do ‘fun’, at least not in the traditional sense. His version of fun is watching beekeeping documentaries on NatGeo.” Gabriel shrugs in a ‘what can you do’ gesture and Dean’s brow furrows.

“I think NatGeo is good, too.”

At that, Sam laughs so loudly that the couple at the next table turns to stare at him. “No, you don’t! You’ve never watched NatGeo in your life! God, you are hung up on this guy.”

“Okay, fine, I haven’t watched it. But I could! I’m sure bees are interesting.” His voice wavers on the last word because, right up until this conversation, he’s never considered bees at all, let alone found them interesting. But that’s the point of a relationship, isn’t it? Compromises, shared interests. Bees, apparently.

“Newsflash, Dean-o.” Gabriel orders a double cheeseburger with bacon jam and maple syrup, plus a strawberry shake and fries to dip into it, much to Sam’s disgust, then turns back to the table. “Bees aren’t interesting. They’re the dullest creatures on planet Earth, aside from Castiel himself. No wonder he has such an affinity with them. Now, what time do you want me to come by tomorrow, Sam, and what do you want me to bring? I make a mean caramel apple pie...”

Dean tunes out, even though the suggestion of caramel apple pie is enough to make his mouth water, and watches the snow fall in glittering flakes outside, blanketing the streets and the cars in a perfect white frosting. Across the road, the Impala has a thin layer of snow on her windshield. Dean stirs his vanilla shake slowly, distracted by thoughts of his neighbour. Castiel hasn’t lived opposite him for very long, only a few months, and in that time he seems to do nothing but work and go running. Dean’s never seen any cars outside his house, no guests going in or out, and on moving day Castiel was alone. That’s their only interaction to date: Dean had given the guy what he thought was a friendly smile and offered to help him move in. Castiel, in turn, had looked like a rabbit in the headlights and frantically declined the offer, scurrying up the porch steps and into his house with a box and not reemerging until Dean was safely inside his own home. Since then, all they’ve exchanged are shy smiles and quick waves - all instigated by Dean. Perhaps Sam’s right and he should just let the whole thing go, but something about Castiel is drawing him in magnetically. His house isn’t in disrepair but it’s in dire need of some love and attention and Dean is itching to go over there and fix the porch steps and give it a lick of paint. The only lights that ever go on at night are the kitchen and the bedroom, never the living room or any of the other upstairs rooms. The house feels lonely and cold, and Castiel himself doubly so. And the utter absence of all Christmas decorations is the cherry on top of everything. Dean wonders what Castiel would do if he turned up on his doorstep tonight with a handmade wreath for his door as a Christmas Eve gift.

Tomorrow is Christmas Day and Dean will be waking up with his brother, opening their gifts, then welcoming their friends for dinner and drinking long into the night. And, across the street, he can just imagine Castiel’s house looking cold and sad, and it causes a pang of sorrow to pulse in his chest.

“Why doesn’t Castiel decorate?” He asks suddenly, and Gabriel and Sam break off from their mooning at each other to glare at him in irritation.

“Because he’s a Scrooge, that’s why. Why do you care?” Gabriel dips his French fries into his chocolate milk and munches them happily. “Is his the only house on the street not all decked out or something?”

“Yes, actually. And he seems… I just don’t want him to be…” Dean flounders, trying to express himself without confirming their suspicions of him being utterly lovesick. “Nobody should be alone on Christmas.”

“It’s self-inflicted, Dean.” Gabriel’s eyes lose some of their mirth and he pauses with a French fry en route to his mouth. “Castiel doesn’t celebrate on Christmas. He goes to Midnight Mass at the church downtown then he spends the day alone. He has done for years. I invite him someplace every year and he always declines. I’m sure he’d like to decorate, have some friends around. He misses having a tree, I know that much. He always comments on how nice my place looks all dressed up for the holidays. But he likes being alone. Okay, he doesn’t _like_ it, but he chooses it. I’ve learned to respect that choice. He used to be the spirit of Christmas when we were kids, believe me. But times have changed, and Castiel changed with them.”

“But _why_?” Dean persists and Sam arches a warning eyebrow. But Gabriel isn’t so easily cornered.

“Not my story to tell, Dean-o. You’ll have to ask Cassie about it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get home and wrap all these gifts.” He gathers himself up, winds his scarf around his neck, and kisses Sam on the nose. “See y’all tomorrow. Hope Santa’s good to you!”

Then he’s gone, the door to the diner opening and closing in an icy blast and a flurry of snowflakes. Sam watches him cross the street to his car and Dean kicks him under the table for being such a sap.

“Hey!” Sam gives him the puppy dog eyes that always, _always_ work. “I have to listen to you mooning over some guy who doesn’t know you exist. Give me a break.”

“He _does_ know. He just… keeps to himself.”

They finish their meal in silence, Dean watching the snowflakes gather on the window pane and Sam focused on his phone, confirming times for tomorrow and no doubt texting Gabriel if the sickly-sweet smile on his face is anything to go by. Dean is happy for them. He is. But sometimes, just sometimes, he wishes he had someone, too. Not for lack of trying, the dates come in thick and fast. But nobody has that… something _else_ that he needs in a partner, that he truly wants with someone else. That deeper connection. He sighs, gazing down at his empty plate.

One day. He’s sure that one day he’ll find his happiness.

Maybe he should wish for it this Christmas.

*

Dean typically spends Christmas Eve by himself, and he likes it that way. Sam goes out to The Roadhouse with Charlie and Jo, to do the annual quiz and drink eggnog until the early hours, but Dean prefers a quiet night in to prepare for the day ahead. This year is no different. He’s currently slumped happily on his couch, a glass of homemade mulled wine balanced on his stomach, watching _The Holiday_ in the light from the crackling fire. His living room is his favourite room of the house. He’s renovated most of the place himself, but the living area is spacious, warm, with lots of fabrics and textures and a log fire that crackles merrily throughout the winter.

In the kitchen, the refrigerator is stuffed to the brim. A turkey big enough to feed ten people is wedged in beside pigs in blankets, homemade cranberry sauce, plus all the trimmings. The vegetables are peeled and prepared ready to roast tomorrow. There are enough bottles of wine and beer to sink a ship.

And yet, the spirit of Christmas is evading Dean. And it’s entirely because, across the street, Castiel’s house sits in darkness apart from one lonely light on in the kitchen. No lights, no tinsel, no tree, nothing. Possibly no gifts, either, and that makes Dean unbearably sad. He remembers as a child, having nothing to give Sam so going out and stealing wrapped gifts just so his kid brother had something to open on Christmas day. They had no tree, and they made do with the crappy motel room TV with blurry, crackly Christmas movies on. But they had each other. Castiel, it seems, has nobody.

He gets up to pour himself another glass of mulled wine, takes a mulled cider as well because it would be rude not to, and returns to his movie. He has a soft-spot for what Sam calls ‘chick-flicks’ and if left alone long enough will binge on them to his heart’s content. _The Holiday_ comes to an end and he switches to _The Grinch._ Then _Home Alone._ By that time, it’s pretty late - almost midnight, and the snow is coming down heavy outside. It’s almost Christmas.

And the more glasses of mulled wine he polishes off, the more an idea begins to grow in his mind.

Gabriel said that Castiel would like to decorate. Maybe he just needs someone to do it for him, Dean reasons. Maybe he’s lonely and wants someone to decorate with, to string lights up with and to laugh when they tangle, to hand ornaments to and to throw snowballs at as they wind tinsel around the porch steps. Dean has decorations to spare, he could offer to lend Castiel some. Or offer to decorate _with_ him. Now _there’s_ an idea.

Or. _Or_.

After his seventh glass of wine and his third beer, when the world is starting to look a little hazy, Dean sits straight upright as a lightbulb figuratively goes on above his head. He’s got it. He can surprise Castiel! Decorate his house for him! Okay, maybe not inside because that would be kinda creepy. But just the porch and the steps. Maybe the front door. Castiel will be at Midnight Mass, right? So his house will be empty for a while. And what better way to swing into Christmas than to come home to a beautifully decorated doorway and to know someone is thinking of him.

 _Yes._ Dean is pretty sure that in all his thirty-six years, he’s never had a better plan. And when he gets up off the couch, the fact that the living room sways more than a little doesn’t even register. He’s got a mission to complete.

So, at ten minutes to midnight, when he’s pretty sure Castiel will have left for church, he pulls on his leather jacket over his t-shirt, his boots over his gingerbread man PJ pants, heads to the garage to rummage through his leftover decorations then, armed with a stepladder just in case, he heads out into the snow.

Everything seems so darn _pretty_ . He sways a little as he walks, puts it down to the snow beneath his feet, and gazes at the twinkling snowflakes as they gather on his clothing, blinks them out of his eyes as they land on his lashes. How can anyone not like Christmas? It’s beyond his comprehension. He checks out the house before pushing his way through the gate. Lights are on in the kitchen but nowhere else that he can see. Castiel’s car isn’t here - the garage doors are closed but Gabriel said Castiel _always_ went to church on Christmas Eve so surely this year is no different. The coast looks clear enough.

He wanders down the path, sets down his ladders and boxes, rolls up his sleeves assesses the situation.

He can hear the church bells from a few streets away signalling the start of Midnight Mass, and Dean knows he probably doesn’t have too long before Castiel returns home to - hopefully - be stunned by what Dean’s done for him. Suddenly it doesn’t seem to matter that they’ve barely exchanged a complete sentence over the last few months. Dean can’t think of a more perfect way for them to be properly introduced: on Christmas morning amid fairy lights and snowdrifts. His romantic streak is really running away with him - what would Sam think if he could see him now?

Heart light and chest full with excitement as he imagines Castiel’s face lit up with surprised delight, he sets to work.

A short while later, there’s sweat on his forehead and upper lip, dripping down his spine, but he’s red-cheeked with happiness at the results of his hard work. Castiel will love this. He just _knows_ he will. A wreath on the front door. Lights wound around the porch steps. A garland draped across the windowsill. A miniature tree on the step by the front door. He takes that opportunity to peer inside at the dark, quiet living room lined with bookshelves and a coffee table with a mug of steaming something sitting on it. A television set turned firmly off. A book lying open and facedown on the arm of the couch and a blanket bunched up as though someone had thrown it off. It’s all very homely, if a little sparsely decorated, and it makes Dean smile a little at the sight. He can picture Castiel curled up here, reading his book and relaxing before leaving for church. His gaze trails over to the hallway door and he pauses, frowning. Does Castiel have a twin? Because someone is standing there, in the doorway between the living room and the hallway, someone blue-eyed and dark-haired, someone staring straight at him and…

Oh, shit. Oh, _shit._

Then, just as he takes a step backwards in fright, suddenly realising all at once that he’s been caught, the front door opens and Castiel stands there, gaping out into the snow at Dean in his work boots and pajama pants. Bright blue eyes travel from Dean’s face to the Christmas lights and the decorations, and before Dean can even open his mouth to try and formulate an apology or an explanation his foot slips on the top step and he falls backwards, arms windmilling wildly, until he lands gracelessly in the flurry of snow pushed to the edge of the path. In the distance, the church bells begin to chime again and all Dean can say, as he hauls himself into a sitting position in the wet snow, is: “I thought you were at church.”

It’s a weak excuse, one of Dean’s weakest to date and he knows it. He can’t look Castiel in the eye, instead focusing on his gray plaid pajama pants and bare feet. He has a scattering of hair across the joints of his toes, Dean notices. Cute. Then he remembers what’s going on and blushes a deeper shade of scarlet.

“No, not tonight,” Castiel says slowly, venturing out onto his porch and taking in Dean’s handiwork with wide-eyed awe. “What… Dean, what are you doing here?”

Shit. He doesn’t look angry, that’s a plus. But as Dean struggles to his knees and then to his feet, he realises that he’s probably a lot more drunk than he’d initially realised and that maybe this wasn’t the best idea he’s ever had. In fact, he wonders if he would have done it sober at all. He has to grip the porch railing to stop himself keeling over. Thinking about it, it’s a real invasion of Castiel’s privacy and his cheeks flood with colour as he takes in the lights, the garlands, the tinsel, the miniature tree on the step. Castiel follows his gaze and doesn’t say anything, which makes Dean feel worse as the silent seconds tick by. He feels suddenly nauseous as he considers what he’s done. How he’s just arrogantly waded into Castiel’s life. His cheeks burn hotter and hotter and he wishes the snowy ground would just open up and allow him to melt into it.

“You, uhm. You haven’t decorated,” he says lamely, every word feeling thick on his tongue. “And I thought. Well, I thought you might want… I thought…” He trails off, staring at the ground, at the slush beneath his boots. “I should, I should go.”

But he can’t move. He’s frozen in place, waiting to be yelled at or pushed off the property or, worse, for the cops to be called. But so far, Castiel has shown no signs of doing anything like that. In fact, as Dean peeks up at him through his lashes, his face seems to have softened and he looks almost… sad. Why sad? Has Dean upset him so much? A knot forms in his chest and clenches tightly. He never wanted this, _never._

“I don’t decorate,” Castiel says quietly and when Dean chances a proper look at him he sees Castiel reaching out to touch a bauble with his fingertips then run a finger along the garland adoring the porch railing. “I haven’t for years. I didn’t see the point, really. Everyone else decorated and looking at their seemed to be enough. Your house looks lovely.” He indicates Dean’s house, lit up like a fairytale across the street, and doesn’t elaborate any further.

Dean, being Dean, just has to pry. “Why not?” He scoots just a little closer. “Why don’t you decorate? Don’t you like Christmas? You don’t seem like a Grinch to me.”

A hint of a smile passes Castiel’s lips and his blue eyes twinkle just a little. “I’m not a Grinch, Dean. I like seeing other people enjoy their holidays.”

“But not you? Why?”

“I lost someone,” Castiel says heavily. He doesn’t go back inside, nor does he invite Dean in, but he does wipe a patch of snow away on one of the steps and sits down. After a second’s hesitation, Dean joins him, thinking that Castiel must be freezing cold, barefoot in the snow. But it isn’t the right time to mention it. “Someone I was very close to. They died on Christmas Day, four years ago, and I’ve never really gotten back into the Christmas spirit since. I’ve tried, but joining in group festivities is very difficult for me, so it’s easier to spend the day alone. That way, I don’t disappoint anyone.”

There’s sadness in Castiel’s eyes and Dean aches to lean over and put an arm around his shoulders. He shouldn’t ask, but he knows before the words even form on his tongue that he’s going to.

“Who did you lose?”

Castiel smiles sadly at him, but doesn’t balk at the question. “My partner. His name was Inias. He died in a car crash in the early hours of Christmas Day, driving over to see me. I’ve never truly forgiven myself.”

“Hey, that wasn’t your fault, Cas.” Dean says, without thinking. At Castiel’s widened eyes, he presses further. “Accidents happen, accidentally, with nobody to blame. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”

“He hit a patch of ice and lost control of the car.” Castiel glances down at his hands. “Christmas hasn’t been the same since, although I admit I’ve found it difficult to try and enjoy it. I haven’t been able to see the point in decorating, especially if it’s just me here alone. But now…” He looks up at the lights, the tinsel, the wreath on the door, and his blue eyes seem to glow as he does. Snow sparkles on his lashes. “The house looks lovely. And you’ve done such a nice job.”

“I violated your privacy, Cas.” Dean admits, reddening and feeling a tug in his chest which he immediately identifies as humiliation. “You should call the cops or something. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry. I just didn’t _think_ , I didn’t realise there was a genuine reason you didn’t celebrate. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“No, Dean. Please don’t be upset. Nobody has ever…” Castiel gestures to the decorations. “It’s so thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Kinda intrusive, though.” Dean mumbles, looking down at his boots with flushed cheeks. Most of his embarrassment and fear that Castiel was going to freak out and call the cops has all but dissolved, but he still feels a bit stupid for doing what he’s done. He freezes in utter shock when Castiel’s hand comes into his peripheral vision, hesitates, then reaches over to clasp one of his hands in his own.

“Maybe. But I like it. A lot. Thank you, Dean.” Castiel smiles at him then looks around them again, eyes sparkling in the light from the decorations. It could be Dean’s imagination, but he’s sure he feels Castiel shift just a little closer to him on the step. “I think I know which part of your hard work is my favourite.”

Castiel stands, brushes the snow off the back of his pants, then extends a hand to Dean and pulls him to his feet. The movement puts them very close together and Dean can smell the spicy orange and cinnamon of his shower gel. Christmassy. Delicious. Dean can’t help but lean in a little closer and inhale - in what he hopes is a subtle, unobtrusive way. Castiel smiles warmly at him, the glow of the lights turning his skin a beautiful golden and making his eyes sparkle. He’s looking at Dean as though seeing him for the first time and, slowly, links their hands together and draws Dean a little closer. Then he looks up and Dean, after watching the smooth lines of Castiel’s jaw and throat, follows his gaze and sees something he almost forgot he put up.

Mistletoe.

“Happy Christmas, Dean.” Castiel says, before leaning in and kissing Dean deeply, holding him close with one arm around his waist as the church bells in the distance continue to ring, signalling to the entire small town that Christmas Day is here. And kissing Castiel is the best damn present Dean could ever have hoped for.

Dean becomes intimately familiar with Castiel’s kitchen that evening, as he’s bent over the countertop and eaten out with such enthusiasm that he winds up certain that he’s been having sex wrong all his life. Castiel’s tongue delves deep into him, his fingers massage his perineum and cup his balls, and he grips the table and closes his eyes against the onslaught of lust.

Then the bedroom, where he and Castiel explore each other with their mouths, kissing and licking and sucking and Dean is fingered to an orgasm so hard he sees stars behind his closed eyes. Castiel then straddles his chest, pushing and holding him down and taking his own cock in hand, telling Dean to suck him. Dean moans, and does exactly as he’s told, swallowing everything Castiel has to give him when he comes and licking him clean until the older man pushes him away with a laugh, oversensitive.

Then the bathroom as they kiss and embrace under the paltry shower spray and Dean promises to fix it for him one day very soon. Castiel is solid muscle and Dean’s mouth explores every inch of skin he can reach.

They sleep in late then they walk across the freshly fallen snow to Dean’s house and Castiel helps him prepare Christmas dinner. He finds himself being kissed every time he moves remotely near Castiel, and it takes him a little longer than it should do to realise the older man has a sprig of mistletoe pinned to the front pocket of his shirt.

“You’re corny as hell, Cas.” Dean laughs, allowing himself to be backed up against the countertop and lifted up onto it, leaning back and allowing Castiel’s kisses to trail from his jawline down his neck, then his t-shirt is being tugged down so his clavicle can receive the same treatment. “Cas, we can’t. My family will be here soon. Mmmm, but that feels so good…”

Just as his eyes fall closed and his hands lift to wind into Castiel’s hair, the front door bangs open and voices float down the hallway. Castiel stiffens in shock and tries to step away, but Dean grips him tight and, sliding down from the counter, doesn’t allow him to go too far. He slides his hand into Castiel’s just as Sam and Gabriel clatter into the kitchen with Bobby and Mary in tow, and they all stop short at the sight of Dean standing in his kitchen holding hands with someone with a shit-eating grin splitting his face.

“Dean?” Sam ventures, wide-eyed, stumbling out of the way as Gabriel pushes past him, agog at the sight of his cousin. “Is this…”

“Yeah.” Dean winds his arm around Castiel’s shoulders, pulling him a little closer and feeling as though his heart is going to burst with how happy he feels. “This is Cas. Cas, this is everyone.”

Later, as they all crowd around the table with party hats on and cheesy music playing in the background, Dean catches Castiel’s eye while pouring another glass of wine and they exchange a warm, secretive smile.

Turns out he didn’t have to wish too hard this year to find his happiness. It was right across the street all along.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any Christmas ideas and would like them turned into fics, send me a DM on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/coffeeandcas) and I'll try and work some magic. 
> 
> Happy December!


End file.
